And Beyond
by Weazel
Summary: Ever notice that there's a huge gap between the ending of the War of the Ring and when Legolas sails for Valinor? This fic is just my humble fill-in of what goes on during then. Please enjoy and give suggestions if you have any!
1. Author's Note and Prologue

And Beyond  
  
  
  
Author's Note  
  
First of all, I have a confession to make: I am one of those people who saw the movie before reading the book. I fell for Orlando Bloom's character in his first screen entrance, riding into Rivendell and dismounting so gracefully from his horse. Then he turned around and I saw his face and, whoa, that did it for me! It's not often when someone comes along whose looks just blow your senses away. I'm not afraid to admit that his physical appearance is what inspired me to write a fanfic. In fact, I noticed many fans out there had the same idea. If we had a chance to get sucked into the book and meet a Legolas who looked like that—hell yeah, we'd go for it!  
  
Making up an original character was very difficult for me. I've read too many 'Mary Sue' type fanfics and swore never to write the same mistake. Actually, the excellent fics are ones where the heroine has obvious character faults. They're not for the reader to pick on and think "Ha! I don't have the same problems she does therefore Legolas would theoretically like me better!", but rather to give her the heroine realism. It's no use making someone up if no one will believe you. 'Mary Sue' characters are fake, fake, fake.  
  
** Disclaimer – The Lord of the Rings character names, locations and other related concepts belong to mastermind J.R.R. Tolkien and not to me. In the prologue I take an entire passage from the book but I cite the source, so don't get all up in arms about it. I do not intend my fanfiction for any purpose other than for personal enjoyment and a means to practice my creative writing skills.  
  
  
  
Prologue – Eryn Lasgalen  
  
  
  
"After the fall of the Dark Tower and the passing of Sauron the Shadow was lifted from the hearts of all who opposed him, but fear and despair fell upon his servants and allies. Three times Lorien had been assailed from Dol Guldur, but besides the valor of the Elven people of that land, the power that dwelt there was too great for any to overcome, unless Sauron had come there himself. Though grievous harm was done to the fair woods on the borders, the assaults were driven back; and when the Shadow passed, Celeborn cam forth and led the host of Lorien over Anduin in many boats. They took Dol Guldur, and Galadriel threw down its walls and laid bare its pits, and the forest was cleansed.  
  
In the North also there had been war and evil. The realm of Thranduil was invaded, and there was long battle under the trees and great ruin of fire; but in the end Thranduil had the victory. And on the day of the New Year of the Elves, Celeborn and Thranduil met in the midst of the forest; and they renamed Mirkwood Eryn Lasgalen, The Wood of Greenleaves. Thranduil took all the northern region as far as the mountains that rise in the forest for his realm; and Celeborn took all the southern wood below the Narrows, and named it East Lorien; all the wide forest between was given to the Beornings and the Woodmen..."  
  
~ quoted from page 1069 of Appendix B from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings 


	2. Part One - Two Companions

Part One – Two Companions  
  
  
  
"I say, Master Gimli, is this what you Dwarves call a fire? I would call it a candle, and a candle wouldn't cook our bacon and bread!"  
  
Whirling about, Gimli found himself face-to-knee with a pair of long grey legs that had somehow sneaked up on him while he was busy building a fire for their late evening supper. Blast that show-off of an Elf.  
  
"Harrumph! And what about you?" he growled in return. "Did your eagle's eyes fail you for the whole hour you were gone looking for more firewood? We might have had our toast by now if you were quicker. I say Elves are no better at finding kindling than they are at mining their own jewels! Eagle's eyes, my boot! More like a bat's."  
  
Smiling with amusement, Legolas lay down the promised armful of firewood and said nothing, but brought out from underneath his cloak a brace of plump wild ducks at which Gimli's eyes lit up with surprise. He looked so much like a child who has just witnessed his first magic trick that Legolas gave a great laugh and clapped him on the back.  
  
"The Limlight flows not only with fish but game as well, and I came across this fine pair after collecting your firewood. At first I was content to simply admire them from the banks of the river, but then my belly reminded me of supper. I took them with a single arrow through the necks. Now hold your high praise, old friend," the Elf joked, "while I put away the bacon!"  
  
So saying, he tied the slab of pork back in its wrappings and took a seat beside the stout little Dwarf to prepare the birds for roasting. No longer scowling, Gimli grabbed the nearest branch and peeled off a few strips of dry bark to feed the flickering flames. His thick stubby fingers were surprisingly patient and gentle as they nudged pieces of wood into better position to catch fire. When he had a merry blaze going, he turned his attention to sharpening a long stick on which to spear the meat. Soon the mouthwatering aroma of roasting wildfowl and toasted bread wafted up to tease their noses.  
  
Gimli sniffed appreciatively and rubbed his rough little hands together in hungry anticipation. He leaned forward so close that his beard was in danger of being singed and turned the ducks on the spit to cook evenly. Droplets of melted fat dripped off their crisp brown skin to fall crackling into the fire.  
  
"Ah… Now this, Master Legolas, is what I call a pretty bird, dressed in nothing but its own skin and juices. Such a fat pair of ducks I've never seen before! You Elves can have the dainty feathered things that sing, but give me this any day!"  
  
Legolas reached for a slice of toasted bread. "I must disagree," he began expectedly, eliciting a deep chuckle from his companion. "Although your pretty bird will please the palate and fill an empty stomach, it cannot satisfy a deeper hunger. Give me a songbird any day, for music is food for the soul!"  
  
"That's all very well for you and your kind who don't need to count the days," grumbled Gimli, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile mostly hidden by his great red beard. Then he tested the meat and declared it ready. No more was said as the hungry travelers tucked into their supper.  
  
Long after the fire had burned low, spreading its warmth like an invisible blanket, the two friends sat resting in contented silence. The Field of Celebrant, wedged between the fork of the rivers Anduin and Limlight, was a comfortable place to camp on a balmy late-summer's night such as this. It felt unusual to stop so out in the open, unprotected by mountains or trees, but the feel of lush river-fed grass, the sound of whispering water, and the sight of an endless sky lent a sense of ethereal security. To the distant southwest of them rose a black wall of trees that was Fangorn Forest Grazing side by side in similar companionship were Arod and Grey.  
  
Arod, the fiery red-chestnut stallion that had carried Legolas and Gimli for hundreds of miles and into battle, showed an unusually strong bond for his Elven rider who used neither bridle nor saddle. After the War of the Ring, as a gift of thanks, Eomer King of Rohan gave him to Legolas' keeping. It was a precious gift indeed, for the people of Rohan loved their horses as their own children and Arod was an excellent steed, both beautiful and swift. To Gimli, King Eomer gave a pony—a pert dappled grey with sharp ears, bright eyes, and much equine common sense. The Rohirrim horse herders called him White Featherfeet after the wispy feathering on his fetlocks, but Gimli disliked a long name.  
  
"White Featherfeet, Featherlocks… Suppose I forget it one day and suddenly Orcs come running round the bend, and there I am unable to call my own horse to me," he argued. "I won't have it! His name will be Grey!"  
  
"That's an uninspiring name." Legolas made a face. But the Dwarf had put his stubborn foot down and Grey it was.  
  
A slow-burning piece of wood crumbled and sank as its red-hot insides ate away the center, leaving only a shell of grey ash. Neither of the two companions stirred. Gimli had been staring at the embers for quite some time, reluctant to interrupt the quiet, until he saw a curious smile curve across Legolas' face for no apparent reason.  
  
"Is there something very amusing, Master Elf? I should like to know what it is."  
  
Legolas blinked once, unhurried, before turning his peaceful gaze from the sky. "We are nearing home," he replied simply.  
  
"I am fully aware of that."  
  
Silence.  
  
"What is there at home that can bring such a smile?" Gimli pressed.  
  
"Not what, my friend, but who." Staring back up at the sky, Legolas said no more. Gimli thought he noticed a new glow in the Elf's cheek. But perhaps it was a trick of the dying fire.  
  
Prodding the embers with the last twig left, he got to his feet with a heavy sigh.  
  
"We'll need more kindling in the morning. I'll gather what I can in this darkness while you sit here like a lovestruck fool and think about home some more." Clearing his throat gruffly, Gimli ambled off toward a sparse scattering of trees where their horses were tethered.  
  
Legolas shook his head. He had sounded too eager to speak of home—rather, of her. It wasn't the time yet, not when things were still—after all these years—so uncertain. Last summer he left her and joined the Fellowship; one year later he would return to show her the young naïve prince had become a warrior, and a man.  
  
These thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse shout.  
  
Leaping to his feet, Legolas peered in the direction where Gimli's cry had come from. In the half-clouded moonlight he saw his friend grabbing with one hand for Grey's tethering rope which had come undone. But it was Arod who was in trouble.  
  
His rope was caught in a battle between two forces—Gimli against the dark thief astride Arod's back. Unable to rear up and throw his rider, the stallion skitted wildly from side to side while whinnying in terror. His head was going to be wrenched from his neck!  
  
Suddenly Gimli slipped in the grass.  
  
"Ha!" Kicking Arod fiercely, the thief shot past Gimli and twisted around to head off for the forest.  
  
Legolas' bow was nocked before he could even think. Taking aim, he let fly two arrows. At the same time, Arod bucked…  
  
The thief was sent sailing high above the horse's head and Legolas saw his arrows make contact with human flesh in midair.  
  
With a piercing scream, the thief fell to the ground and lay motionless. 


	3. Part Two - The Horse-thief

Part Two – The Horse-thief  
  
  
  
Legolas reached the fallen thief just seconds after Gimli. Drawing his knife, its long white blade flashing with moonlight, he tightened his grip around the hilt.  
  
"Looks dead," said Gimli with his pony in tow as they bent over the crumpled form. Most of the body was tangled in a hooded black cloak. Two leather-booted legs stuck out from below the tattered and frayed edges, and one was twisted at a rather unnatural angle. Farther up, the first of Legolas' long arrow shafts jutted sharply from deep in the back of the left thigh while the second had lodged just below the buttock. Both Elf and Dwarf hesitated at the sight, grotesque battle memories surfacing all too quickly in their minds, and more painfully the memory of Boromir punctured to his death by black Orc arrows.  
  
Setting his jaw, Legolas stepped forward and grasping the hood of the cloak, jerked it back to reveal a thick mass of dark, human hair.  
  
"Not an Orc, to be sure!" Even gruff old Gimli couldn't mask the relief in his voice.  
  
"No, and not dead either," said Legolas quietly. "Look, he breathes still."  
  
Sure enough, when Gimli stared hard enough he thought he could make out a very shallow rise and fall beneath the cloak, so faint it looked more like stirring of wind than a human breath. He grunted in disgust. "Weak moron. What sort of man faints after falling off a horse! Roll him over and let us have a look at this fool's face."  
  
Legolas let go of the hood and grasped the thief's shoulder.  
  
Odd…  
  
It felt round and bony under his hand—and much too small to belong to a grown man. There was hardly any muscle at all on this skinny childish arm. Feeling slightly ashamed but not caring at the moment, Legolas breathed a small sigh of relief; he had had enough of fighting Dark creatures to last another century. They had subconsciously been expecting a different sort of foe than the one lying in a helpless heap at their feet.  
  
"No, Gimli, first I shall remove my arrows lest they break and pierce him further. Bring Grey around and hold him steady while I put the boy across his back. He's in no condition to be moved any other way."  
  
The Dwarf stared at him. "Has your Elf mind also gone to mush? Bring him to our fire in thanks for attempted theft, eh? Then I suppose I should be hospitable and offer him tea when he wakes! Soft-hearted Elves!" muttered Gimli crossly. "And what of Arod now? Won't you go after him?"  
  
A momentary flash of anger at the loss of his horse swept through Legolas. Pressing his lips together tightly, he sheathed his blade with more force than necessary and lifted the boy belly-down onto Grey's sturdy back.  
  
"Arod will return when he feels he has strayed far enough. Let him run."  
  
The truth was, he wasn't even sure in which direction the stallion had bolted. If he didn't come back on his own will, they would have to continue their long journey on foot. The delay would add another two weeks between him and home. Legolas grit his teeth at the thought.  
  
Back at the campfire, while Gimli stirred up the embers with what little wood he had managed to collect, his companion lay their unconscious captive cheek-down on the grass, close to the flames for better lighting.  
  
Legolas surveyed the twin arrow wounds with a critical eye. Though deep, they had bled little so far which indicated he had fortunately missed the major blood vessel running through the upper leg. The pain, however, would be crippling for quite some time; if the thief planned on escaping he had at least a week to think of a way. Legolas smiled grimly and grasped the first arrow near the base with his right hand fingers. With his left thumb and forefinger he positioned them just below so that they were pressed against the wound. He felt blood seeping out and quickly began to work.  
  
In what seemed like a minute, the first arrow was out. Gimli couldn't see how it happened—his eyes were no match for the subtle movements, so quick that they looked like mere finger flutterings. The second one, stuck in the thigh, took a little longer to extract but presently it too came out, glistening red, to be laid aside next to its twin.  
  
Wiping his stained hands on the grass, Legolas exhaled deeply through his nostrils as he nodded thanks to Gimli holding out a large wrinkled handkerchief.  
  
"The boy must have struck his head harder than I thought," the Dwarf remarked. "To sleep like a baby while someone pulls arrows out of your…" He trailed off chuckling to himself.  
  
Legolas looked disdainfully at his hands, and the bloodied cloth. "I must clean myself more thoroughly in the river. Wrap his leg, Master Gimli, if you have the heart. I fear it might be sprained at the knee." He stood gracefully and ran off on silent cat's feet. Soon Gimli's eyes lost him in the thickening shadow. Mumbling and grumbling, he turned to glare at the boy lying in the same awkward position as when Legolas first set him down. The left leg, which seemed to be the unfortunate target for all the suffered injuries, glared back at him from its twisted angle.  
  
"'Wrap his leg', he says," Gimli mimicked. "I most certainly will not, I'll have you know! Since when has a Dwarf in his right mind gone soft, healing his enemies right and left, setting broken legs and whatnot? Never, and I will not be the first! Let the Elf do it if he chooses." He crossed his arms with a huff and sat put.  
  
The dying little fire sputtered pitifully. Please, it seemed to say. Please.  
  
Gimli turned his back and closed his eyes. Legolas, that priss, he thought. Couldn't stand to have those beautiful hands soiled any longer than necessary. Well, he wasn't going to lift a finger. A thief was a thief—child or not.  
  
Please…  
  
"Humph!" Heaving to his feet, Gimli furiously stomped out the flames. Suddenly he paused. Standing in the dark, amidst charred ash as delicate tendrils of smoke rose slowly from underneath his heavy boot, he turned slowly to look upon the boy again.  
  
No one ever spoke of what happened afterwards. When Legolas returned, he found the fire curiously put out and the Dwarf curled up fast asleep underneath his blankets. He glanced at the thief, still unconscious, but his hands were bound securely behind his back with spare rope. Then something white caught his eye…something wrapped about the left leg, which was now straight as the right.  
  
Smiling to himself, Legolas lay back with his head pillowed on his arms a little apart from the other two slumberers. And so the night passed over three unlikely travelers and one dozing pony. 


End file.
